The Machiavellian
by satirical
Summary: This is the story of the youngest son, and the women who taught him to love. KyouyaxOC
1. The Schemers

1: The Schemers

By the time Ootori Kyouya was twenty-three years old, he was already a millionaire many times over. One does not amass a fortune through an excess of kindness. And one does not maintain a fortune through ostentation. So few, not even his family, knew the extent of Kyouya's private accounts; he lived at home still, as did many men of his age, and worked for his father in the business division of Ootori Medical, Ootori Internation.

Although he worked in the family corporation, he was not often called to report to his father. It came as a surprise to him the day Ootori Yoshio strode unannounced into his son's room and told Kyouya that he was to be engaged. In this day and age, engagements were forged in the feudal way only for two, mostly separate though sometimes simultaneous reasons. Either to protect the reputation of a misbehaving child, or to secure an irresistable dowry... and Kyouya, as far as he knew, had not misbehaved.

"May I ask to whom?" he said mildly, crossing one leg over the other.

His father stopped before his couch. "The Saitou Heiress," he said.

Kyouya scoured his memory. The Saitou name he knew: their corporation's main business was to produce the delicate, complicated medical machinery used to monitor patients' health. But the Heiress? He thought for a full minute but the only thing that came to mind was the image of a horse. "The equestrienne?" He threw aside the GQ he'd been flipping. What little he knew of her, she wasn't exactly a fast and loose type. "She's gotten into some kind of trouble?"

"Don't be common," his father scowled. "No, not at all. But it is a succession question."

Right. Heiress. "Don't tell me she can't own the company without getting married and I'm your only single employee."

His father snorted. "Once again, you lack imagination. No, Kyouya—_you _can't own the company without getting married."

Kyouya was a little dumbfounded. He had no interest in a company who, as far as he could remember, had falling market shares for the last five years. A company scandal had left their reputation in scatters, though its exact details were hushed up, and their current political clout stood at next to zero. Had he wanted control of the company, he could easily buy it and turn it around. Was his father desperate to provide a living for him? If so, the Saitou family business was not it.

"This is slightly out of the blue," he said finally.

"Yes, yes," his father waved off his comment. "You were expecting an hour's alone time before the family dinner tonight. But, the delicacy of this situation… I'm planning to tell them tonight, you see. Not even your brothers know yet. I need to hear your commitment to this project."

Kyouya's puzzlement turned to irritation. "Father, forgive me for not offering commitment without first hearing your terms," Kyouya replied. "What is the incentive?"

His father dwelled for a moment. "That is a matter between Saitou Iwao and myself. In time I will reveal more to you, but right now you must trust me. This is," he pinned Kyouya under his gaze, "a critical time for our company, and your engagement is a vital part of our future operations."

"Rather old-fashioned of you."

A smirk. "I am an old-fashioned man." Ootori Yoshio stopped his pacing, momentarily distracted by the few baubles Kyouya had put out on top of his dresser. A photograph of Boston in the summer, a stuffed dragon given to him by Tamaki and Haruhi, and a single trophy, clustered together. They must seem maudlin to his father, he realized belatedly. Evidence his youngest son had a heart. Kyouya made a note to put the keepsakes away.

Turning back to his son finally, Yoshio stated: "Everyone knows the Heiress is picky, and we need her to pick you."

"What makes you think that likely? Even if she is to my liking, as she apparently must be, I might not be her Prince Charming."

His father fixed him with an intense glare. "One would assume charming impressionable girls would be a breeze, given your history of… extracurricular activities," he said quietly.

Kyouya felt himself flush. His father's contempt for the host club and his circle of friends was old news, but generally he did not show it so openly.

"But I'm not here to rehash old arguments. Believe me when I say, there's a deal going down between Saitou and I, and the main condition for his cooperation is that his daughter Yori marries well."

"But not for love."

"I never imagined you were interested in marrying for love, son."

"She might be." Kyouya said noncommittally

"Then you better make sure she falls in love," his father said. "Are we clear?"

The moment for protest had passed. Kyouya pushed aside the storm of questions churning in his head. He nodded and rose to his feet. "Yes, sir."

His father nodded. "I trust you will have some idea of the magnitude of this venture," he said. Kyouya kept his breathing calm, noting acerbically that his father treated this with as much feeling as he did any other business deal. Well, two can play at that game. "I will make the announcement of these intentions at dinner tonight, and we will arrange the first omiai for next week."

Ootori Yoshio made to leave.

"Sir."

"Yes, Kyouya?"

"To be blunt, the incentives you have given me are too weak by themselves to guarantee, well, success." Sweeten the deal, Father.

The smirk returned. It was the merest quirking of the lips, and generally did not reach Ootori Yoshio's eyes. But this time he seemed actually amused. "And here I thought I had avoided this discussion."

"No sir. I was merely paving the way for negotiations."

Half an hour later, father and youngest son arrived at the family dinner having reached an agreement. They surprised the servants by entering together, one after the other. The son looked placid, perhaps a little lost in thought. The father, however, was a strange shade that the servants had never seen before. The housekeeper remarked that he was not his usual self, and got a sharp reprimand for it.

The elder two sons, who had been left out of negotiations altogether, immediately intuited that something was happening. They spent the next hour speculating silently, until his father finally put down his fork and drew a deep breath. "Kyouya," he pronounced. "Why don't you tell everyone the good news?"

"I've decided," Kyouya said without missing a beat, "that as my brothers were engaged by the time they were my age, that it's time for me to court someone as well."

"Anyone in particular?" Yuuichi, the eldest, asked.

"Saitou Yori."

"Yori Horseface?" Yuuichi's wife burst out.

"Do you know her?" Kyouya asked politely.

"Just a little," she said, a little embarrassed. "I mean, we used to go to school together. She was a year below me but quite the star for, um, horsemanship."

"A girl with one defining feature," muttered Akito, the second son.

Kyouya turned a chilly smile on the three of them. Akito had not yet married his fiancée, though it'd been something like four years, so she did not join them at the dinner table. But he was aware that the four of them made a quadrangle of schemers. Leaving discretion aside, he now had an inkling of why his father had chosen not to disclose the deal to his brothers.

The less they knew, the better.

Yoshio broke in. "To be honest, it has long been my hope that I see my three sons married to good women and good authority assures me Miss Saitou is a lady."

His elder sons nodded their heads and looked down at their food. The news had taken them as off-guard as it had Kyouya. The youngest son could see his second brother visibly thinking, eyes darting from side to side as if sizing up his gazpacho course. They would not dare to interrogate his father, especially not in front of so many people—but they were no fools. Akito especially could smell secrets from miles away. Especially when they all knew their father only talked about marriage to bully or cajole.

Kyouya sipped his water and thought of convenient replies for when his brothers came to him to gather intel. If they knew that his father was offering him, at the very least, ownership of Saitou corp by marriage…

The Ootori boys were raised from a young age not only to excel, but to scent weakness. And leaving Ootori International for a second tier company would be like his ambition stripping naked and taking a cyanide pill on national television.

But his father was, in fact, aging. Kyouya could see it in the crow's feet accumulating on his face and the profusion of age spots beginning to surface on his skin. He could read it in the way that his father preferred to stand, favoring his bad back whenever he was alert. He could see it in the fact that it sometimes took his once knife-sharp wit twice as long to find a response to a complicated question. And old as he was, Yoshio was beginning to make mistakes.

Kyouya smiled quietly to himself. His father was wily enough to thwart his brothers, but not him. Kyouya would keep his promise to his father, to follow through with the deal. But, as always, it would be on his own terms.

Just wait, Father, he thought. You'll get your deal. And more besides.

That evening, Kyouya closed his bedroom door and booted his laptop. It loaded within twenty seconds, flashing the Ootori symbol. Kyouya keyed in his password, navigating to the old IRC client, which he hadn't opened in months. There was no need until now. He needed a few services. Logging onto a chatroom he used to frequent, with an old and trusted screen name, he typed out a job description. _Seeking pro trawler for immediate work. Discretion is everything. Rate DOE._

There were a few immediate responses over private message, most of them overly boastful. The ones who bragged were never as professional as the ones who didn't. He decided on one who messaged merely a sequence of numbers and, _I've got refs if you have details_.

He smiled. References—as if reputation wasn't enough when it came to hackers. He sent along the specs.

_Simple._

_You'll do it?_

_No job too humble for me_. _50 Euros an hour?_

_800 Euros, flat rate. If you succeed, there will be more work in the future. _

_Agreed. What shall I call you, patron?_

Kyouya thought. Smirked. _Mother._ _ You?_

A beat. _Nixon._

A strange name, Kyouya thought, but no stranger than mine. _Let's call your target, S Corp._

.XXX.

_[Author's Note:] _Dear all, I'm re-writing The Machiavellian. It's undergone a total revisioning, because the original plot was not working out. This time it's completely a Kyouya-OC fic. The question will be, which original character? Yorika has undergone a name change, and the whole thing will be a little better, I hope. Please reread!


	2. Snow White and Rose Red

**2: Snow White and Rose Red**

"I'm still not sure this is okay," Haruhi said, her ice-skates dangling from one hand.

"But—but—_ice-skating!_ It's so romantic!" As usual, Tamaki had already gone into an anticipatory seizure.

The twins both popped the collars on their dark peacoats and looked askance. "Ice-skating is secondary." "Espionage comes first."

"You look just like spies!" remarked Hunny. "But that… might not be very effective."

"We look like regular skaters," said Kaoru. "Perfect undercover disguises, right, sarge?"

Kyouya realized he was "sarge"; he made a noncommittal sound.

The few real friends he had, preparing for their all important mission at the skating rink, a crowd of boys and one clumsy girl attracting the speculative gazes of those around him—damn it all, he should've just gone alone. The meet-cute would still work without a cadre of idiots and moralizing Haruhi making a scene and embarrassing him in front of his future fiancée. He never would've mentioned it in the first place, except that Tamaki and Haruhi had drawn it out of him. They, out of all people, had the knack of catching him off-guard. One slipped remark became another, and soon they had charmed, harassed, nagged, and bribed the whole story out of him.

Of course, if Tamaki knew, the entire host club knew.

"This really isn't any of our business," Haruhi tried again.

"Not our business! Mother getting married certainly is our business!"

"Oy, you're not still on the Mother thing, are you?" That was, Kyouya figured, Kaoru.

"And we haven't even met yet," remarked Kyouya. "Look, just don't do anything rash."

"Okay!" Hunny smiled. "What's the plan?"

"Very simple. All of you stay quietly on the other side of the rink and keep the idiot muffled. I'll meet her."

"This is all very stalkerish of you," Haruhi inserted again. "Can't you just meet her in two days, at your omiai?"

"Certainly not," Kyouya said.

"Kyouya is being his usual scary self," Tamaki intervened. He had already pulled on his shoes, although the rink wasn't officially open yet. "But there's method to his madness! First impressions _are_ everything, you know, and our Mother comes off as such a cold fish in formal, stifling situations."

"I'm not your Mother."

"Just in formal situations?" The twins.

"But you don't even want to marry her. Why go to all this trouble?"

There was a stretch of awkward silence, while Kyouya smiled. Classic Haruhi, always cutting right to the quick of everything.

"True, but perhaps I will when I meet her. And how can I know, under the formal, stifling lights of the conference room where they will likely introduce us?"

It had not been just curiosity, however. He needed to see the girl in a situation where she behaved naturally, like herself, which was more likely at her favorite haunts than at the omiai. He had researched her enough to know her foibles, hobbies, and background—but none of these compared to understanding her temperament. For that, he needed to meet her. Or at least observe her. It wasn't just about making a good impression. It was about finding his advantages.

She was a horse fanatic, but also an ice-skater who had once debated becoming professional. Although she had her own skating rink in her family home abroad, she liked to come to this one while she lived in Japan. According to the company who employed Saitou Yori's personal trainer, she regularly frequented this rink in the winter months, coming when it opened at noon and leaving two hours later. It was also, strangely enough, the one place where she was not tailed by her personal guard. According to a servant at the house, her guard typically spent this time eating lunch and betting on horse races on the level below the rink, allowing her trainer to be her protection while at the rink.

A young girl, barely twenty-one, and she needed a personal guard? Kyouya had begun to speculate about the Saitou secret.

Kyouya's shoes were just laced when the ice machine had finished prepping the rink and the early arrivals began to file onto the rink. Tamaki, for all his usual enthusiasm on the ice, was chivalrously holding Haruhi and making sure she didn't slip. Haruhi didn't skate, though all the others did, and was sorely embarrassed by that fact. She reluctantly allowed her husband to support her, spending much of her time on the ice snapping at the others to "get away and let her be" while holding onto the outside wall for support.

Ahead of her, just starting to skate from another entrance in the rink, was a girl in a cream colored frock. The center of the rink was empty, the sides accumulating with people. The girl skated out, gliding easily to an unpopulated spot. She paused, tucked her hair up in a bun, and held her arms aloft. Around her, people began to stop and stare.

There she was, the Saitou heiress.

She began to sail across the ice. Her turns were perfect, and she began to do tricks that caused the people around her to gasp with delight: toe jumps, salchows, double axles, double loops. Even Tamaki and the twins calmed down long enough to watch her leap on the ice, loose strands of brown hair fluttering against her cheeks.

"The picture of grace," an older woman next to Kyouya said under her breath.

There was scattered applause when she came to a stop, and she bobbed a curtsy in a breathless way that screamed, even from that distance, of false modesty.

Kyouya frowned.

He slid into the rink. He wasn't a great ice-skater, but he wasn't bad either. He was merely—indifferent. He'd trained up until he knew the basics and could stay upright and relatively dignified on ice, but lacked the interest to keep practicing. The Saitou girl overshadowed him in this respect. He could pretend to bump into her, but that would be too straightforward. He thought to go a few turns around the rink, and give himself time to work out an appropriate response, when suddenly a blur of red shot past him, throwing Kyouya off balance.

He slipped, his feet sliding out from beneath him. The ice met his ass with a cold smack.

"Sorry!" shouted the blur of red over her shoulder.

Kyouya blinked. The rude person who had pushed him turned out to be a young woman in a red woolen coat, rushing toward the Saitou heiress. She'd pushed him out of the way, he realized, and now she was going to barrel straight into Saitou Yori. "Careful!" he yelled, anticipating their collapse and fall.

It didn't happen. Yori swung to her side on the ice just as the girl in red caught her and they spun around twice, arms locked together. Yori seemed bemused and kept glancing back at Kyouya; the other girl, who was taller and more solid-seeming, merely laughed.

The Saitou girl cocked an eyebrow. "You're late."

"I know, but I'm here now!"

"You pushed over that young man over there."

The young woman in red looked back and waved at him from a distance. "Are you alright?"

Kyouya had straightened up, and was brushing the ice off his normally immaculate pants. The twins slid up behind him, and one propped his elbow on Kyouya's shoulder. "Geez," the other shouted back. "How rude!"

"Oh pssh. He's fine!"

The young woman in red beamed and grabbed Miss Saitou's arm, dragging her over to Kyouya. They bore an uncanny resemblance to each other, Kyouya noted. He could now see why they called Miss Saitou horse-face—her face _was_ uncommonly long, with sloping cheekbones and a flat nose. The other girl had a prettier, oval shaped face, though her body was a little heavier. They had the same eyes, however—slightly narrow, long-lashed, glaringly black.

"You didn't break any bones, did you?" the girl in red said.

"Gomen!" Saitou Yori snapped. "You are so rude sometimes, ane-chan. My sister apologizes sincerely for being such a klutz."

Kyouya's mind snapped into overdrive. Yori was the _sole_ heiress of the Saitou business, the only daughter in the records that his associate Nixon had found in the Saitou records, and the only family member who stood to have anything to gain when the Saitou patriarch stepped down. There was absolutely no mention of an older sister, biological or adopted.

And yet the evidence of his eyes was incontrovertible. There was another Saitou girl out there.

He smarted at the fact that his information was not only incomplete—but that the hole was so wide, so gaping.

"I'm not a klutz, just in a rush to see you," the girl in red told Saitou Yori as they glided away, arm in arm. "We only get these two hours a week anyway, and the rink will be closed starting next month."

"Kyouya-san," Mori said, joining the three. "You're alright?"

"I'm fine, just fine," Kyouya shrugged off the arms of his friends. That was not the meeting he'd hoped it would be. He looked neither composed nor charming, just… off-balance.

"They're getting away!" hissed Hikaru.

"Let's go," replied Kaoru, and they launched themselves toward the two girls, only to be held back by Kyouya, gripping their collars with both hands.

"No, not right now," Kyouya said. "I don't think interrupting them is a good idea today."

"We can still listen in!"

Kyouya looked around. There were people watching them curiously. A few girls were pointing at Mori and giggling. Hikaru was still blaring music from his headphones and Kaoru was liable at any time to trip over his unlaced skates. "We're too conspicuous. Let's just forget about surveillance."

"Sir, we can do this sir!"

Kyouya sighed and resisted the temptation to put his head in his hands. They were waiting for the code, he realized. Reluctantly, he squared his shoulders and said, "Abort mission, soldier."

The twins grinned at him evilly.

"Very good, sir!"

"Sorry to have let you down, sir!"

They spent the rest of the two hours dicking around, the seven of them, as if it were just like old times. Haruhi seemed satisfied that they'd given up the ridiculous spy game, though the twins sometimes broke out again into spy lingo around each other, having seen too many foreign movies in preparation for their "operation." Haruhi eventually was capable of skating around the rink by herself, Tamaki glowing next to her. Kyouya, bottling his frustration, eventually left the rink and took off his shoes one by one.

But then, as he sat quietly tying the laces on his black oxfords, he began to laugh. It was a quiet laugh that shook his shoulders and changed his dour expression to one of exhilaration. He'd just been played a powerful wild card. He'd have to think carefully about how to play this one.


	3. Meet and Greet

**3: Meet and Greet **

_I was unpleasantly surprised today,_ he told Nixon that night. _You must have missed something in the Saitou archives_.

_There are millions of files to read,_ the reply came immediately. _Are you talking about the hidden older sister? _

_You knew and didn't tell me?_

Nixon: _I sent you a msg after I found it after our last conversation. I mean, I found signs before our conversation of some things which were expunged from official records, but no conclusive proof of her existence until after you'd already logged off. Perhaps in the future, you could give me somewhere I can reach you at any time of the day? Such as, for example, your email?_

Kyouya considered. It would be too revealing to give Nixon his real email, or even one of his numerous aliases. At the level of Nixon's expertise, he would probably be able to decode his employer's identity in five seconds flat.

_Send an untraceable text to this number with a link to publically accessible downloadable file, _he replied, giving Nixon the number for a burner phone he carried on him. _Any time of the day. _

A beat. Another beat. _Very well. Secretive little man, aren't you? _

_What makes you think I'm a man? _

_Would a female use "Mother" as an alias? It'd go against taste. Q.e.d. _

Kyouya shrugged. _What did you find out about the elder sister? _

_Not denying or affirming my accusation, I see. The elder sister's name is Saitou Asukami. Twenty-three years of age, Japanese passport. Formerly the favorite of Saitou Ruoji, her grandfather and the oldest living Saitou. She was disinherited five years ago for unbecoming behavior. One gets the sense that she eloped. To Europe. There are quite a few references to a business partner who was then excommunicated. _

_Details on the partner? _

_Dieter Grundy, a master's student at the Heidelberg University in Germany, who used to do R&D consultancy with Saitou, but who was blacklisted around the same time. Five years ago there was also the enrollment of a Hamada Asukami at the Heidelberg University in the school of business; Hamada was her mother's maiden name._

How long would it have taken for Nixon to dig up this much dirt? _Do you do this all day? _

Nixon: _Be someone's research monkey? Only when they pay me. Speaking of which, I want a raise. This is too much stuff to go through on just 800 Euros. _

_10 Euros per hour, with a 100 Euro bonus for anything that is of particular use to me. _

_20 Euros. _

_Send me a bank account number and you'll receive your installments weekly. _

_Terrific. So what does particular use mean? Dirty secrets? Nasty pictures? Perhaps you're a little voyeuristic? _

Kyouya was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a voyeur. He preferred to know that things worthy of voyeurism existed, turning other people's sins into concrete disadvantages. Well, it wasn't as if blackmail had never appeared in his repertory of tricks. _Use your imagination. I expect you'll know it when you see it._

_Aye aye. _

_One more question. _

_Yeah?_

_How disinherited is the elder sister? _

A long wait while Nixon composed his reply, so Kyouya flipped away to peruse internet papers. When the window began blinking yellow, he turned his attention back on the conversation.

_No Saitou money whatsoever is going to her, though there are a couple of off-shore accounts that seem to be linked with distant relatives, who may or may not be helping her. That is unclear. However, there is a recent company memo that suggests she's anathema: no Saitou employee may get close to her and they must all report to higher-ups, whoever they might be, if she is seen around. She must have just come back to the country recently. _

So that was why the bodyguard did not accompany Miss Yori to the skating rink. Yet it made no economic sense for her to return if all accounts were frozen to her.

_What is she doing back in Japan?_

_Unclear from the files. _

_Make it clear. Find out why she left, and why she's come back._ Proceed to phase two. _Nixon, there's a deeper secret buried in these files. I need to you find something valuable: so valuable that a man would be willing to stake a fortune for it. _Or his son, Kyouya thought.

_How will I know I've found it? _

Kyouya had no idea. Whatever the deal was between his father and the Saitou patriarch, only the two of them knew. _Keep a list of potential leads and update me. I'll know it when I see it._

_Aye, Captain. Can I call you Captain instead? It suits you so much better than Mother._

Despite himself, Kyouya smirked. _Do as you please._

The trawler signed off, leaving Kyouya completely alone in his blue-dampened room. A typical evening, he thought. At his feet, his cat Noel snored gently, his weight warm on Kyouya's toes. He flipped through his bookmarked web pages, checked the Dow, S&P, and the Tokyo indexes, and finished off the last of his tea. Time for bed, he thought, snapping his laptop shut. But he stayed awake despite himself, trying to weigh all the inevitabilities and mysteries against each other. What was his father thinking? What motivated him to go this far in securing Saitou Iwao's cooperation?

He wondered if it had anything to do with the recession. The government had begrudgingly conceded that there was a recession at all only a couple months ago, although austerity measures had been introduced much earlier. The restrictions had slightly hampered their business, but since medical facilities were always necessary, Ootori Medical had kept on keeping on. Ootori International was another story, however; how could one do business if there was no one abroad willing to risk a little something?

His father might have been trying to head off competition by building a impenetrable relationship with a medical machinery developer—but why pick Saitou Corp for that? There were other candidates, even economically stronger ones, and in the prestige-conscious floating world of health services companies, Ootori Medical was definitely the belle of the ball.

What leverage did Saitou Iwao have, that Kyouya's father was so insistent on marrying him off?

He thought for hours and came up with numerous theories, but they were merely that, theories. He had no confirmation for any of it. At least, he comforted himself, the engagement process would make it easier for him to do a little investigating of his own.

It was, however, apparently not to be through Saitou Yori that he found his big break.

A couple days later Kyouya found himself seated at omiai, a luncheon at an exclusive club that featured private rooms for just this purpose. He was dressed to the nines, in a pale linen suit with a dark collared shirt, one of his more flattering outfits. Next to him sat his chaperone—naturally, a distant aunt. Across from his aunt was Yori's chaperone, a fat lady with strident fuschia lipstick. The lady sniffed every time Kyouya adjusted his shirt collar or poured tea. He still had not worked out how the lady was related to Saitou Yori.

It was an awkward lunch, especially given that his future fiancée had taken one look at him and all the blood had evacuated her expression. Saitou Yori was alternately easily startled, like a shy colt, and devastatingly cold, like a block of ice. Questions from Kyouya found polite answers, and she asked only the most tedious and common questions back.

They both agreed cordially that they liked the color blue, that they enjoyed studying abroad in the United States, and that they liked Chopin.

"Kyouya-san is just a year older than you," said his aunt to Miss Saitou.

Miss Saitou smiled and said something very pretty and unconvincing.

"Don't you like being around girls your age?" asked Miss Saitou's chaperone, Ms. Kanashi, suspiciously.

"As much as I like anything," he replied. His aunt, who was wearing stiletto heels, chose that moment to plant her heel on his middle toe. With dangerous intent, it began to sink down. "I've only ever dated girls my age, if that's what you mean," he said in a rush. The heel rose up again.

"Not, of course, that he's dated many girls," said his aunt hurriedly.

Kyouya made a nod of acknowledgement. "I am unversed in dating. Perhaps," he gave a cool, intense smile, "Yori-san can teach me."

"That's Miss Saitou to you!" Ms. Kanashi snapped even as Saitou Yori let her bottom lip drop in surprise. "Don't try any of your funny little tricks here. We've heard of your reputation. In high school you were the leader of a band of immoral young men who tempted young women with your salacious good looks."

"I would hardly call myself the leader," Kyouya said, surprised. "That was my friend Tamaki."

"Nonetheless, it was… it was… a _host club_!" Ms. Kanashi screeched.

"I'm sure the host club was not inappropriate. I knew a girl who attended one of your events back in the day," Miss Saitou began, until Ms. Kanashi broke in.

"Whether or not the proceedings were appropriate is not the question. The question is of your moral integrity, whether it can compare to that of Miss Saitou. She is the only daughter of the Saitou family and its shining pearl. She will not be besmirched with marriage to an irresponsible playboy!"

Kyouya raised his eyebrows. He had not expected them to lie blatantly to his face, nor had he expected such aggression and name-calling on the first date. The Saitou girl could not meet his gaze. Indeed her hands were trembling. Besides… irresponsible playboy?

Nonetheless, it was his duty to look good and say the right things. If only this fool of a chaperone had not interrupted anything, or the girl were more forthcoming. "Of course," he soothed Miss Kanashi. "I would never dream of subjecting someone so elegant and refined to the crass company of my high school associates." Never mind that his high school associates came from far better families than Saitou Yori herself. "In fact, I believe that you and I have seen each other before, Miss Saitou—a fortuitous accident."

"Really?" she glanced up sharply. The cold mask had reappeared. "No, I don't think we have."

"Oh, were you not at the Meiji Jingu Gaien Ice Skating Rink a few days ago?"

"I was, yesterday. Not a few days ago."

His aunt and Miss Kanashi both grew curious. They had not expected the conversation to turn so quickly.

"Then, my mistake," Kyouya said smoothly. "Of course."

"I have," Saitou Yori said softly, "a very common face. Perhaps you saw someone who looked like me."

"How remarkable, though," said Miss Kanashi, "that you two went to the same skating rink on different days."

"No, not remarkable at all," said Kyouya, sensing that Saitou Yori was protecting her sister. "Not remarkable in the least. There is only one truly good skating rink in town. But likely I have mistaken you for someone else."

Miss Saitou nodded, relieved.

"But I assure you, Miss Saitou," Kyouya said, turning on the charm, "you are anything but common."

The girl breathed sharply, and her pale complexion suddenly flooded with a blush that swelled from the south end of her cheeks all the way up to her hairline. Miss Kanashi made an indecipherable sound. His aunt sipped tea, both hands delicately lifting the cup to hide her mouth, her go-to method to disguise amusement.

To cut the awkward moment short, Kyouya begged leave to go to the bathroom. They granted it to him and he strode off insolently. As soon as he'd turned the corner, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his burner cell phone. There was one new text: it was a sixteen digit code followed by a hyperlink. In the bathroom he splashed water on his face and patted it off with a towel. Checking all the stalls to make sure he was alone, he pulled out a small tabletphone from his other pocket and typed in the hyperlink, and the password for the downloaded file. It was a plain text file that took him two minutes to read. _Nixon has earned his bonus,_ he thought to himself. It had been almost too long, and he opened the door to head back to his seat—only to find Saitou Yori waiting for him, pigeoned-toed and looking remarkably small.

"Ootori-san," she said, bowing. "I can't explain to you now, but I beg you—please do not mention anything about the girl you saw with me at the rink."

Kyouya let a look of concern appear on his face. "Of course not," he assured her. "A cousin, is she? An adopted sister?"

"A disgrace," Miss Yori said bitterly. "My older sister, you know."

"If you can't explain now, perhaps you will, some time when we can speak more privately?" he flashed what he knew seemed to be a self-deprecating smile at her, and leaned a little closer. "It seems your chaperone is intent on discouraging me."

She stilled, the doe in the headlights look returning. "I suppose."

"Shall I give you my number, or you give me yours?"

"Um," she said, scrambling for a pen in her handbag. "I'll give you mine."

He smiled again, slipping a pen out of his jacket and a fine paper napkin from his pocket. "Quickly," he murmured, "before they get suspicious."

She wrote it so quickly that the last two numbers were written over each other, placed it in his hand, and darted off without a backwards look. Kyouya snorted when he read it, spotting her name written out under the number. As if he would forget whose number it was. He slipped the pen and napkin back into his pocket on his way back to the private room, adjusted his cuffs, and stepped in. Score one for Team Ootori.


	4. Making New Friends

4: Making New Friends

They next met at a quiet bar ten minutes away from his workplace. Though Kyouya had texted her, she had picked the venue and time. It turned out to be so inconvenient, he dreaded the meeting. His workload was suddenly very heavy and for the past week he had barely gotten four hours of sleep a night. His assistant had turned in his two weeks notice long ago, and Kyouya had not found the energy or opportunity to interview new ones. He knew he looked gaunt and untidy, with edges of a five o'clock shadow on his face.

Saitou Yori was already there, sipping a club soda. She nodded to him and did not rise.

"It's good to see you again, Ootori-san."

"Miss Saitou," he greeted her. He ordered a drink from the barmaid and sank into the seat opposite hers. "You look very lovely."

Lovely as a glacier. She did not smile at him and fiddled with her drink.

"Rather daring of you to invite me to meet you here all alone."

"We're not alone." She nodded to the door, where a bald man in a black suit sipped some water. "My chauffeur is here. I'm afraid you have the wrong idea, Ootori-san. I am… not interested in your courtship."

His limbs suddenly felt sore, and he wondered why he hadn't postponed the meeting. Right now all Kyouya wanted to do was go home and take a nap on his couch. "Oh?"

"It's not that you're not, um, tall or smart or handsome," she continued. "It's just that, I can't… I don't wish marry… I mean… I'm in love with someone else."

"Oh."

Well—that was anticlimactic. Luckily, he had spent enough time around Tamaki and the others to understand when a young woman needed a supportive ear. The barmaid returned with his drink, and he cradled it in his hand, willing himself to relax. "That's perfectly understandable," he soothed. "Everything about this came out of nowhere."

"I know our fathers arranged this."

"Yes, and to be honest, I did not have any plans to marry, either. But they were insistent; I'm sure your father has impressed on you the gravity of the situation."

"He thinks I won't get married to anyone worthwhile without his help." Her chin fell to her chest, and her shoulders began to shake. "He's wrong."

"Yes. He is." She took a deep, harsh breath, as if finding it hard to keep from crying. "But fathers need to feel like their commands are followed. There's no need for us to, uh, _really_ get married. I don't intend to be a threat to the object of your affections." Actually, Kyouya could not believe his luck; not only was she willingly revealing her thoughts to him, she clearly had no interest in trapping him in a marriage they both did not want. "But if you and I don't carry on as if we were considering it, then our fathers both lose face."

Yori sipped her drink, listening.

"We could make a deal," Kyouya said lightly, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "Become allies. A few months of pretend courting, and then I'll find some reason to break it off that makes me look like an obnoxious playboy and you look like an angel… not that you need any help." Saitou Yori was almost too easy to unwind; he felt she was like a knot that came untied easily, without even requiring him to think. He waited for her response.

"If you are to be my ally, you must never mention to anyone the woman you saw that day."

"Your sister?"

Yori nodded begrudingly.

"Of course not—but I would prefer to be told _why_."

She broke eye contact again. "She's a disgrace."

That word again. A word that seemed to mean everything to the heiress and almost nothing to Kyouya, who had weathered his share of being "a disgrace." He thought back to the file he had read in the bathroom, just a few days ago. It was a German marriage license, featuring Saitou Asukami and Grundy, Dieter, publicly accessible, but difficult to uncover nonetheless. He had sent Nixon a bonus that night. But the ensuing days had not revealed anything further, and so he felt the need to ask directly.

"She's older than you. I know how difficult it is to be a younger sibling," he tried.

"She's disinherited, because she profoundly embarrassed us all."

"Understandable." He thought he was being noncommittal, but the look of disdain Yori shot him revealed that he had made the wrong reply.

"My father is bull-headed," Yori said. "And my mother as well. Asukami—my sister—was the prettier and the smarter of the two of us, but she inherited their temperaments. It would've been fine had she stayed out of the country! It would have been just fine. But no, she had to come back, to leave everything she had out there. And now she can't even find a job, and she keeps asking me for—"

Yori let the words hang as if the rest of her sentence had fallen off a cliff. She turned again, abashed. But Kyouya guessed at the end of her sentence.

"Can you afford to give her loans?"

"It's not money. She wants me to use my influence to find her some kind of job." Yori choked out.

"You don't have to do that," he responded.

Yori said nothing.

"Perhaps you shouldn't respond to her." Kyouya probed.

"I have no choice. I'd help her if I could, but I don't really know anyone." Her light, insubstantial voice dwindled, until he could barely hear her. "I sometimes wish she would leave. If it wasn't for her..."She fell quiet and finished her drink.

But as the silence drew on, Kyouya decided it would be suspicious to press further. He had not come to interrogate her, merely to win her trust. It hadn't been too hard; she seemed willing to reveal a great many things without Kyouya's prodding.

"I'm glad you can confide in me," Kyouya said sweetly. Or, as sweetly as he knew how. He leaned a little closer and whispered conspiratorially. "I'm glad you can think of me as a friend. I won't tell anyone the things you've told me, I promise. We are allies now."

Yori leaned away from him again, but her eyes flickered. "Yes," she hesitated. "Allies."

After another round of drinks and more lighthearted chatter, Yori bid him good night and departed, flanked by her chauffeur. Kyouya called for his driver. In the backseat of his car, he pulled out his phone and checked the messages. Kaoru and Mori had invited him to karaoke; Tamaki had sent him a photograph of a cat in a saucepan on top of a stove. He dismissed these notifications and pulled out his burner phone. Nothing. He slid his laptop out of his case and booted it, finding the wifi he'd purposefully installed onto his car.

_I'm not paying you to sit on your ass_, Kyouya reprimanded, as soon as he'd secured a connection with Nixon.

_Captain! I did not expect to see you tonight. _

_Why not? _

_Considering what's going on in Osaka right now, I figured you would be a little preoccupied. _

Osaka? Kyouya flipped to a new tab and scanned his news aggregator. It was set in order of least to most recent, and so he had to flip through a few articles left unskimmed that afternoon to find a deluge of news articles starting at 6pm, Tokyo time, around when he was getting ready to meet Miss Saitou.

_Avian flu outbreak in Osaka, 4 hospitalized. _

_Source of new strain of avian flu unidentified._

_New avian flu strain causes panic. _

Kyouya took a deep breath. Ootori Medical had a branch in Osaka; that branch of operations was headed by his older brother, Akito, who managed the day-to-day operations of Ootori Medical. His brother—capable, level-headed, and managerial—would come out the savior of Osaka. What bothered him more than the news was the insinuation that Nixon, his hired sword, knew that Kyouya worked for a medical corporation.

_Alright, why do you think that would preoccupy me? _Kyouya challenged.

_Call it intuition. I like to follow my gut—and it's led me to uncover things you wouldn't believe. Like this filing for divorce from a certain Saitou Asukami. Here._

His car jerked to a stop, breaks squealing. Kyouya's laptop, still downloading the image file, flew out of his grasp and knocked itself closed against the back of the passenger seat in front of him. "Nobu!" he snapped at his driver, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Sorry, sir. This girl just came out of nowhere in front of me." Kyouya rose to glance out the window and spotted the spinning rear axle of a bicycle. _Shit. _

"Did you hit her?"

"No, but the bike fell over and I couldn't stop in time," Nobu replied, setting the car in park and unbuckling his seatbelt. Kyouya unlocked his passenger door and stepped out, straightening his collar.

The girl he'd almost run over was clambering up onto her feet, her knee smeared with dirt and blood. She looked at him through a curtain of dark hair, and then threw her hands in the air. "Is this karma?" she asked to no one in particular, sweeping her hair back from her face with one hand.

Well, now.

Kyouya could not believe his luck. While Nobu pulled the bike out from under the car (its frame was snapped from the force of the impact, he made his way next to the girl and held out his hand.

"I believe we've met once before," he said. "When you knocked me down at the ice rink."

Asukami Saitou studied his hand, and then her eyes, fringed with a forest of dark lashes, flew to his face. "So I did," she said, gently taking his hand and shaking it. "I guess we must have been fated to meet."

This was familiar territory. He summoned all the charm he'd accrued from the host club, and concentrated on suggesting the psychological image of blue roses twirling around his head. "An eye for an eye, a push for a push. I hope you're alright," he said.

"Oh, I'm fine. My bike is rather broken, though," she frowned, apparently oblivious. "It wasn't all your fault, but now I have no way of getting back home."

"My chariot is free for you to use." He gestured to the town car, stalling behind them. Over her shoulder, he spotted Nobu and made quick eye contact. His driver immediately shouldered the bike and carried it to the trunk of the car.

She eyed it. "Oh, I couldn't," she demurred insincerely.

"Nonsense. It would be my pleasure."

"Accepting a ride from an Ootori. If only my parents could see me now." Asukami laughed when Kyouya's smile became fixed. She had a laugh that was equal parts amusement and irony. "Come on. As if I wouldn't recognize the guy my father picked for my sister."

"And your name is?"

"Saitou Asukami at your service. But don't tell anyone you met me unless you want to be shunned. I'm like a contagious disease." She eyed him. "But then, you already knew that, didn't you?"

Kyouya shrugged and led her to the car. "Your sister might have mentioned it."

"A gentleman," Asukami crooned as he opened the door. She glided in smoothly, as if she were sliding into her own car and not his. Nobu had already fit the lion's share of her broken bike into the trunk, his face carefully blank. His driver did not like the young woman he had just picked up, Kyouya realized. But that was beside the point: one did not have to approve of a pawn. One merely had to assess and deploy as necessary.

Kyouya checked his reflection in the mirror for one second. His necktie was the tiniest bit askew. He looped a finger behind the knot and pulled it out a half-inch, so that it hung suggestively around his collar. That'll do.

"So," he smirked, leaning into the car, "where can I take you?"


End file.
